


This Was Not Somewhere Crutchie Wanted to Be

by ScottyMcDotty



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: (this doesnt technically follow the movie but w/e)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2322314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottyMcDotty/pseuds/ScottyMcDotty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crutchie gets taken to the refuge, where Snyder will do anything to get information out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Jack! Jack, help me!” Crutchie screamed, and his throat burned like fire. He dug his nails into the ground, dragging them along until his fingers bled. They caught on a brick in the road and the bulls pulled on his bad leg, sending shockwaves of blunt pain shooting through his body. “Jack! _Jack! Jack Please!_ ” His voice failed him and he broke down into a sobbing mess.

The bulls pulled on Crutchie’s leg, but the kid held fast to the brick, screaming his friend’s name. One of the bulls stepped in front of the boy, and he stared up, suddenly in shock. The bull towered over Crutchie like a giant before raising the boy’s own crutch over his head. Fear gripped at Crutchie so hard that he barely even flinched when the bull brought the end of his crutch down onto his knuckles.

Crutchie screamed and shocking pain made his hands release from the brick. The bull kicked him in the side, flipping him over onto his back. Crutchie briefly got an eyeful of the bull who struck him. The smug look of satisfaction on his face struck arrows in Crutchie’s heart and made his hand throb more.

The bulls dragged him into the paddy wagon, perfectly fine with letting his head smash against the edge of the step. Crutchie curled up on himself to avoid his head getting scraped against the splintery wooden floors.

The bulls finally dropped Crutchie and threw his crutch back to him. When they left the cabin, Crutchie took a second to catch his breath before trying to force himself standing. He tried to get himself up on one of the wooden benches built into the wall of the carriage but when he did, his guts felt ready to burst. 

“No, no, no,” he whispered to himself, laying back down on the ground. He pursed his lips and prepared himself for the worst as he slowly pulled up his shirt. His belly was already darkening with blooming bruises. He swore to himself as he body wracked with sobs he couldn’t control. He felt absolutely pathetic, laying stuck on the floor crying like a baby all alone. He did the only thing he could think of and tipped his head back, yelling for Jack. Not much sound came out of his throat-- just scratches and coughs.

Crutchie had never felt so defeated-- not when he lost his parents, not when he lost his leg, not when he was getting soaked by the Delanceys, or when he got cheated out of a whole day’s pay-- nothing hurt as bad as being abandoned by his best friend. He had looked Jack in the eye and watched him make the decision to run away with the other newsies. It was the first time since Crutchie had met Jack that he’d felt alone. He’d forgot how much feeling alone hurt.

Crutchie curled himself up, which was quite a feat in his state, and let loose, letting out all the tears he had let pile up. It was so dark in the wagon; even the sun had abandoned him, he felt. The sun, the world… The World had really let him down. Everyone and everything had left him for dead. The feeling was numbing. He almost didn’t notice when the wagon started to move, bouncing gently on the pavement. It helped him relax until he fell asleep, lulled by a tiredness that seeped into his marrow.

\--

Crutchie had never fallen asleep like that, from pure exhaustion. When the carriage doors opened, it scared him awake. All the bulls did was laugh at him before dragging him out of the carriage by the arms. Crutchie didn’t even put up a fight anymore-- he was done for.

“Welcome to your new home, kid,” one of them said as they dragged Crutchie up a flight of concrete stairs. At least his head wasn’t smashing against them anymore, the way the bulls were carrying him.

“Yeah? And where’s that?” Crutchie said with a scowl.

“I think you know where,” an all too familiar voice cooed. Crutchie had heard the voice before, although it was rarely directed at him.

Crutchie tipped his head back to be sure, and he found himself looking straight up at Warden Snyder. Snyder the Spider, the newsies had called him. He had an evil, crooked smile on his face. Dread washed over Crutchie. He’d heard horror stories about what Snyder did to kids at the refuge. 

“Bring him in, boys,” Snyder commanded the bulls.

The bulls jerked Crutchie back to life, and the boy started kicking and struggling in their grip. “No! No! Just send me to jail! Stop it! _No!_ ” One of the bulls silenced Crutchie with an elbow to the face.

Stunned by the blow, Crutchie went limp in the bulls’ grasp. Snyder led them down a long, plain hallway. The hall was lined with doors, and sets of eyes peeked out from them, watching Crutchie. It looked so strange, the boy thought. They all looked like little shadows with wide, curious eyes, so delicate they were afraid to even step over the threshold. The sets of eyes moved back into the rooms, only to be replaced by another set, creating the illusion of a constantly-moving shadowy demon covered in eyeballs.

That was not somewhere Crutchie wanted to be.

The bulls threw Crutchie into a dark room which held only a desk, a chair, and an oil lamp. Crutchie squirmed around in a writhing pile of pain as Snyder and the bulls had a word that the boy honestly didn’t want to hear.

There were two other boys in the room. They reminded Crutchie of the Delancey’s, the way they framed their tough guy looks by rolling up their sleeves and crossing their arms. They weren’t tough like Spot Conlon, they were bullies. There was also no noticeable difference between them, other than that one had a long scar going from his chin to his temple, crossing over his eye. They also wore the same outfit, which made Crutchie want to roll his eyes.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Snyder said to the bulls as they left. With the bulls gone, Crutchie felt alone, and feared what Snyder might do. Between the warden, the roughnecks in the corner, and the ominous light from the oil lamp, he knew something was going to go down. 

“So,” Snyder cooed, turning his attention to Crutchie, “what’s your name, boy?” This voice wasn’t threatening yet-- mostly condescending. 

“Crutchie,” the boy spat, “they call me Crutchie.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Snyder scowled and poked at Crutchie’s gimp leg with the toe of his shoe. “But I’m not interested in you. I’m interested in what you have to say.” The warden pulled the chair up so he could sit down, staring menacingly at Crutchie. “I want you to tell me about Jack Kelly.”

“Tell you about Jack? What do you mean?” Crutchie asked. His chest felt tight and his voice sounded weak.

“I want you to tell me where he went; where his next move is going to be. What his plan?”

Mostly out of defiance, Crutchie scowled at Snyder and yelled, “Why should I tell you anything?” 

One of the boys, the one with the scar, stepped forward menacingly and brandished the stick in his hand, just to be held back by his brother. The one without the scar looked to Snyder for a cue. The warden shook head head at the boys. Scar-face huffed out of his nose and stepped back.

“Look around,” Snyder said, standing up. He gently paced around the room as he spoke. “Now, Mister… _Crutchie_ , was it? Who else is here? It looks like it’s just you, me, and these boys. There’s no Jack Kelly, there’s none of your friends. Face it, you’ve been _abandoned_ by your friends.”

Rage boiled up in Crutchie’s stomach like lava. It burned his throat and made his heart want to explode. The worst part was that he wasn’t even mad at Snyder for what he was saying-- he was mad at Snyder because what he was saying was true. All of the newsies had up and left while Crutchie got dragged away. Some even saw him get beat. None of them had come into save him, though. What happened to everything Davey had been spewing about being brothers and leaving no one behind?

But this wasn’t about Jack or Davey. This was about everyone. Anyone who had ever been treated unfairly-- and Crutchie knew that the best. He gritted his teeth and scowled at Snyder. “No! I’m not tellin’ you nothin’!”

All kindness fell from Snyder’s face. “You’re going to regret that, kid.” He looked to the two boys and nodded. “Scar-face and Jackson will convince you otherwise. Call me when you change your mind.” The warden stepped out and the boys stepped forward.

Jackson, the boy without the scar, picked up Crutchie’s crutch off the ground. He pushed Crutchie, who had been propped up on his elbows, to the ground and kept his foot on his chest, stepping down just hard enough to make his breaths laboured. Jackson’s expression was crooked and some of his teeth had been punched out. “This is your last chance, kiddo.”

Crutchie grasped Jackson’s ankle, trying to get his foot to move, but Jackson was just too strong (or Crutchie was just too weak). Out of some sort of defiance, Crutchie scowled and spat at Jackson.

Jackson responded by swiftly kicking Crutchie in the jaw. Crutchie’s teeth rattled in their roots and a scream left his lips against his will. “Now, you gonna tell us or what?” Jackson asked menacingly.

Crutchie choked on blood and glared at Jackson. “Never.”

Jackson scowled. “You better know your place, kid.” He looked to his brother and nodded.

Scar-face came at Crutchie like a tidal wave. A flurry of kicks and punches and jabs with the wooden stick filled every nook and cranny of Crutchie’s existence with a different kind of pain. Whatever anger and hate Scar-face had piled up inside of himself had erupted onto Crutchie in the form of the worst experience of the crippled boy’s life.

Scar-face suddenly stopped. Crutchie didn’t even have the strength to lift his cheek off the floorboards to see why.

Jackson suddenly appeared next to Crutchie and knelt down next to him. Crutchie’s head was roughly jerked back and off the floor by his hair, then turned to face Jackson. He didn’t look any different than before the beating-- just as apathetic.

“Are you going to tell us now?” Jackson asked smoothly.

Crutchie couldn’t even bring himself to talk. All he did was stare at Jackson, hoping to get the point across with his eyes.

It seemed Jackson was fairly receptive with those kinds of things, especially from the way he communicated to his brother without talking. He let Crutchie’s head drop back to the floor and turned to Scar-face. All Crutchie could see was their feet, and he felt his body tense up when Scar-face started to move.

He prepared himself for the worst, and the worst came. Jackson used Crutchie’s crutch as a sort of prod to turn the crippled boy onto his back, where he could see Scar-face standing tall and proud with droplets of Crutchie’s blood on his clothes.

Scar-face’s brow was stern, and the shadows on his face were exaggerated by the flickering oil lamp. There was a kind of smile on his lips. A smirk. Something of pure evil, deriving some sort of sick joy from Crutchie’s pain. 

Scar-face clenched his fists and re-adjusted his grip on the stick he’d been using to beat Crutchie, before raising it like a knight about to deliver the final blow in battle. He brought it down on Crutchie’s good knee hard enough to elicit a deafening crunch.

Crutchie’s world went dark and silent. He felt himself screaming but nothing happened. He’d always imagined passing out from something like that would be instant, but it was slow and the pain lingered even after he lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Crutchie’s eyelids refused to open for him. He felt like he was sinking, with his awful, constant pressure all over his body. Every movement he made felt like wading through water. He felt numb all over, yet somehow also throbbing in pain.

When he finally got his eyes to open, he was met with the shadowy eyeball demon standing at the foot of his bed. He’d almost forgotten where he was and what the monster would’ve been, until one of the kids turned the flame in the oil lamp up. There were a couple of older kids in the mix, but they seemed to be led by a young boy who looked like he was straight out of a story book.

“You’re friends with Jack Kelly?” the fairy-tale boy asked in a whisper.

Crutchie didn’t entirely know how to respond. Was that a good thing? He’d just gotten his wits beat out of him for knowing Jack Kelly, and now another kid was asking him. Slowly, and very cautiously, he nodded.

“And they tried to beat answers out of ya?”

Crutchie nodded.

“Did you give any away?”

He shook his head.

“Good.” The storybook boy moved to the side of Crutchie’s bed and put out his hand. “Name’s Ten-pin. Jack tell you about me?”

“N… no,” Crutchie whispered, honestly too exhausted to even speak full volume anyways. “He doesn’t talk much about the refuge.” He’d almost forgotten about Jack, about what he did. His heart sank.

“But you know how he escaped, right?” Ten-pin asked.

“Well he always says he snuck into the governor's carriage.”

“He did. We all know it happened. And now look, he’s starting the strike!” All of the kids beamed with what Ten-pin was saying. “He’s gonna get us all our rights!”

Crutchie stared at the kids, completely lost. These kids truly admired Jack. These are the kids that Jack is fighting for, kids who were invisible to everyone outside of the refuge. Kids who had no voice, no say, no life outside these walls. And this was who Crutchie should be fighting for-- not the others out of defiance.

There was a knock at the door. “What’s with the light? You’se supposed to be asleep.” The voice was Jackson’s and it sent chills up Crutchie’s spine.

“Sorry, sir!” Ten-pin called back, “We was just checkin’ on the new guy.” The storybook boy blew out the flame in his lamp and the sound of children’s feet pattering on the floor filled the room as they all rushed back into their beds in the pitch black of night.

Crutchie listened intently to the fading sound of Jackson’s footsteps, until they dwindled down to nothing. “Who are they?” he asked to anyone who would answer.

“Jackson and Scar-face,” Ten-pin answered. “They used to be in here just like us until they turned 18. Then Snyder hired them to keep an eye on us. Jackson ain’t too bad, but Scar-face is a little messed up.”

“Their parents wasn’t nice to them,” another boy said. His identity was lost to the darkness. “That’s how Scar-face got so messed up.”

“Jack’s fightin’ for kids like them too, you know,” Ten-pin chimed in. “When the strike’s over, no one’s gonna forget to take us kids seriously. Every kid’s gonna have a voice.”

“Every kid’s gonna have a voice…” Crutchie repeated to himself. He ran the phrase through his head a couple of times. _Every kid’s gonna have a voice_. He liked the sound of it. It didn’t take much, but the phrase helped him ease back into sleep.

\--

Crutchie felt like he was only getting minutes of sleep at a time. There was a knock at the door and the entire room of kids sprung to life, scurrying down from bunks to be standing at attention before Jackson opened the door. All of the kids must have been awake before, because they were all dressed and ready for the day. Had Crutchie really slept that hard?

Jackson walked through the room, inspecting every kid. He gave each of them a nod, and they ran out of the room. Ten-pin was one of the last kids to go, and Jackson spent an extra minute eyeing him up. “You been causin’ trouble, Ten-pin?”

“Me?” Ten-pin gasped, feigning surprise. “When have I ever caused trouble?”

Jackson scowled and have Ten-pin a rough shove of the shoulder before sending him on his way. He then turned his attention to Crutchie. “And how’re you feelin’ this mornin’?”

Crutchie didn’t answer. Only stared. After last night, he figured it was the safest way to communicate with Jackson.

“Like a pile of rocks, huh?” Jackson said with a small smile that almost seemed genuine as he rolled up his sleeves. He sat down next to Crutchie on his bed and the only thought that ran through Crutchie’s head was something along the lines of _Oh my god, he’s going to choke me to death. That’s what it looks like_.

Instead, and much to Crutchie’s surprise, Jackson started to slowly, and very tenderly, roll up Crutchie’s pant leg. He was surprised at how gentle Jackson could be.

Crutchie’s knee was wrapped tightly, raised up on an extra pillow. With hands like feathers, Jackson turned Crutchie’s knee a little bit, getting a good look at it. “You’re lucky Scar-face didn’t shatter it,” he said, matter-of-factly, “just dislocated it. But it’s still swollen pretty bad. Let me get something for that.”

He stood up and left, leaving Crutchie speechless. Did that really just happen? The same guy that helped beat him mercilessly just made sure his last good knee wasn’t fucked up? He almost couldn’t believe it was happening. He couldn’t believe any of this was happening. 

Scar-face was in the doorway. Crutchie didn’t notice at first, and when he did it made him jump. He wasn’t doing anything. He was just standing there, staring. It gave Crutchie the creeps. Scar-face looked like a malevolent statue. Crutchie darted his eyes to keep from looking right at him, but every time he looked away and back, Scar-face only looked angrier. 

Scar-face looked down the hall briefly, then back at Crutchie. His look said something, but Crutchie couldn’t place his finger on it. Scar-face walked away and Jackson walked back in. He was carrying a folded-up towel, which he places gingerly on Crutchie’s knee. It was ice cold and immediately soothed some of the throbbing pain in Crutchie’s knee.

“We have an ice house just across the street,” Jackson explained as he took Crutchie’s hand and rolled up his sleeve. It was just as red and bruised as he’d expected. “Scar really did a number on you, huh?”

“Why are you helping me?” Crutchie asked as Jackson took some ice shavings from the towel on his leg to run across a brush burn on his arm.

“Because that’s what I do,” Jackson replied. “I help people.”

“You sure as hell didn’t help me last night!”

“But I helped Scar. And Snyder… sort of. Well, he helps us, so it doesn’t matter. Besides, I don’t do the hurtin’,” he stood up and wiped the melted ice from his hands onto his trousers, “that’s Scar’s job. He’s angry. He’s so angry…”

“Why’s he so angry?”

Jackson scoffed. “You of all people should know.”

When Crutchie opened his mouth to question further, Jackson shot him a venomous look. He turned to walk away but stopped in the doorframe “You have another meeting with Snyder today,” he said. “Be careful what you tell him this time. I don’t know if you can take another soakin’ from Scar-face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, an exposé chapter


	3. Chapter 3

Crutchie didn’t have much else to do but stare at the ceiling. His whole body still hurt and, quite frankly, he had no idea what the kids did during the day. He could figure a few things from Jack’s stories that they went to church, had a meal, and spent the rest of their day trying to kill time until dinner. “A clockwork life,” Jack had always said. Crutchie still didn’t know what that meant.

He had some time to reflect-- to prepare. Jackson had said he had another meeting with Snyder. Jackson also said Crutchie wouldn’t be able to handle another beating. Thinking about it sent shockwaves of pain back through his leg. He was getting sick of that.

Snyder was probably going to ask him the same thing as he did yesterday. What’s Jack’s next move? Where’s Jack? What’s Jack’s plan? It made Crutchie laugh. Jack was just a figurehead. Davey did everything, but Snyder didn’t even know him. It was probably for the better…

The more he thought about it, the more Crutchie realized he didn’t even have the answers Snyder wanted. Jack Kelly thinking ahead to the next point and actively discussing it with the guys? What a joke. All Crutchie knew was that Jack wanted Brooklyn at some protest he didn’t know anything about. There was only one thing he knew, and it was that he was going to get beat by Scar-face again.

He covered his face with his hands and let out a long, tight breath in lieu of screaming (which was what he’d wanted to do since he got here). He was glad he didn’t, though, because when he moved his hands he saw Ten-pin in the doorway. He walked over and set a tray of food down on Crutchie’s lap.

Crutchie’s jaw dropped at the meal. A hot pastry, a fresh apple, and a glass of cold milk. Even the nuns couldn’t dish out a meal like that. “This really for me? I was expectin’ table scraps.” Actually, he was expecting nothing, but why bring Ten-pin down like that?

“Snyder said he wanted you to eat real good,” Ten-pin told him. 

Crutchie immediately dug into the food, stuffing the pastry into his mouth. The warm steam soothed his nerves and let a smile curl to his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a warm meal, let alone something so fresh and sweet. It left his mouth craving more when it was gone.

“Hey, Crutchie, can I ask you something?” Ten-pin said shyly as Crutchie licked the crumbs from his fingers.

He nodded.

“What’s it like? Being in the strike, I mean.”

“Depends who you ask.” Crutchie patted the side of his bed and Ten-pin sat up next to him. “Clearly it ain’t workin’ out to well for me.” He noticed a little head peeking into the room. Crutchie motioned for the kid to come closer, and he ran up without hesitation. 

“It’s scary, though. You’re fighting against all these big guys, y’know? Like the cops and the bigwigs. They all wanna take us down, but we ain’t gonna let ‘em. Soon, they’ll be respectin’ us-- and everyone else too.” He told the kids about Jack’s speeches, about everyone coming together, about stopping the Scabs. As he spoke, children gathered around me. They seemed to come out of the woodwork, or out of each other like nesting dolls. 

“What do ya do when you get scared?” One of the smallest boys asked. He sat on the edge of Crutchie’s bed, twisting his body around to see him properly. 

“I think about Santa Fe,” Crutchie told them, a smile creeping to his face. All of the kids leaned in. “Santa Fe’s his place Jack is crazy about. It’s this little town out west and everything’s better there. Everything is clean and new and better out there. You don’t gotta worry about the big guys takin’ away our money or our rights or anything.”

Ten-pin scoffed. “Them’s just stories. “When you ain’t got folks, no one cares about you.” Ten-pin was odd in that his mood affected all of the other kids in the room. They were all just mirror versions of him. He was in disbelief of Crutchie, and because of this, so were the others. They all slumped in on themselves, as if Ten-pin had just found the punchline to a terrible joke.

“But you don’t need folks!” Everyone regained interest, but they didn’t let it show until Ten-pin did. “As long as you got your friends, you don’t need folks-- your friends is your folks. They love ya all the same, maybe even more.”

“Then why do ya need Santa Fe? Ain’t all your friends here?”

Crutchie froze up. Were all of his friends here? He knew Jack wasn’t. Even if Jack was still in New York, he was as good as gone. But what about David and Les, or Race and Albert and all of them? Was Jack worth leaving all of them? Not after what Jack had done. It’s not like the others helped either…

All of the kids were staring at him, begging for an answer he didn’t have.

Luckily, he didn’t have to. There was a knock at the window, and everyone snapped their heads toward it. 

There was a moment of suspended disbelief, where nobody wanted to say anything aloud, just in case speaking of it made the sight disappear. 

Finally, though, Crutchie couldn’t contain himself anymore. The name left his mouth without his permission. “ _Jack!_ ” Joy swelled in his chest at the sight of his friend. _Maybe he didn’t abandon me after all._

Tein-pin jumped to his feet and ran to open the window, trying his hardest to keep his cool around his hero. “Kelly? No way that’s you.”

“C’mon, Ten-pin, you don’t think I’d ever be gone for good, do ya?” Jack smiled warmly. “But listen, I gotta talk to the guy over there.” He reached through the bars on the windows to point to Crutchie. The bars on the windows were weird. It was a constant reminder that, no, these kids weren’t at an orphanage. The bars on the lower floors of the refuge were to keep kids from running away. The bars on the upper floors were to keep kids from jumping to their deaths. Neither floor of bars often kept their promises.

“Jack, there’s no way that’s really you,” Crutchie said. It came out as something between a laugh and a sob, but Crutchie could’ve started laughing or crying at any second, so it fit.

“Yeah, Crutch, it’s me. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?” 

Crutchie could’ve melted. Jack did care. He cared enough to risk his own neck and come back to the refuge. Jack cared so much that it made Crutchie throw caution to the wind. He had the kids grab his crutch, which had been cruelly leaning against the opposite wall. “Oh man, Jack, they worked me over good, the bulls and Snyder’s boys, but I-”

He stood up and instantly crumpled to the ground. A scream fell from his lips before he could slap a hand across his mouth. He dug his nails into his bad knee trying to dissipate the pain, but it was more than just his knee. Every injury he had sustained in the past 24 hours flared up, filling his vision with sparks. His head pounded, his jaw throbbed, his chest ached, and his stomach twisted. The worst pain, though, was the crushing blow of reality hitting him square in the heart.

The children gathered around him in a mod of worry, ignoring Jack’s crying pleas to move. Crutchie felt like he was in a steel factory, with sparks in his eyes and muggy voices of children filling his ears and bouncing around in his skull. He could vaguely hear Jack calling his name, but it sounded too distant to be real.

Scar-face and Jackson suddenly burst into the room, red with anger. “All of you,” Jackson roared, “get out of here. _Now_!” The last word was punctuated by Scar-face hitting his stick against the wall so hard the kids were surprised it didn’t splinter. 

As Scar-face hurried all of the kids out of room, not afraid of grabbing them by the nape of their neck to forcibly throw them out, Jackson made his way over to the window, where Jack was still watching.

“Kelly,” Jackson spat venomously.

“Still workin’ here, Jackson?” he responded coolly. “You know you don’t have to.”

“And you know I do, so you better get out of here before I sent Scar-face after your ass.”

“Just give me Crutchie and I’ll be outta your hair for good.”

“Tsk. That kid’s not goin’ anywhere! Look at him!” Jackson stepped aside to give Jack a better look at Crutchie, curled up on the floor, sobbing in what Jackson could only assume to be agony. Scar-face was hovering over Crutchie, watching Jackson for some kind of a signal.

Jack tried to say something, but he was tongue-tied. 

“Your friend’s hurt bad, Jack. You know why he’s beat so bad? He wouldn’t tell us about what you were doin’. Don’t you get it? He’s here because of you, _Jack._ ” Jackson snarled Jack’s name like it was an awful slur. “But the end of the night, he could be dead, and it would be all your fault, _Jack_.” The look on Jack’s face meant Jackson had won. He leaned in. “Now get the hell out of here before I tell Snyder.”

Jack huffed and tried to stare down Jackson, but it didn’t work. It never worked. That kid could speak novels with his eyes, and it always freaked Jack out. Finally, he just banged his fists on the bars and turned to leave, lost on what to say.

Jackson watched him leave. When he was sure Jack was gone for good, he turned back to Crutchie and Scar-face. Both the brothers helped the sniveling crippled boy back onto the bed.

Scar-face left, but Jackson lingered in the doorway. 

Crutchie caught his eyes and froze.

They weren’t angry or condescending, like he’d expected. Instead, they held looks that Crutchie had seen so many times before, but constrained within the same glare made Crutchie feel so defeated, he may as well have been dust in the wind. The glares of disappointment and pity lingered even after Jackson was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's canon refuge stuff now (Letter from the Refuge rips my heart to shreds) but uh guess what we're gonna ignore that and forge on like nothing happened.

Jackson and Scar-face granted Crutchie no dignity when they brought him to Snyder’s office. They carried him between the two of them, letting his feet drag across the floor. Whenever they passed another one of the kids, Jackson shot them a glare.

They were using him as an example.

Earlier, the brothers had banned the other children from Crutchie-- they were to stay out of that dormitory until sundown. Still, Ten-pin snuck in, ducking behind the bed when Scar-face walked by.

“I’m gonna get beat for being here,” the fairy tale boy said, “but I wanna hear more about Santa Fe.”

“You’re gonna get beat? Why?” Crutchie asked. Mostly, he didn’t want to talk about Santa Fe any more, it was really bringing him down, but he was also concerned about Ten-pin, who was so young to be getting beat.

“They beat us for everything here,” Ten-pin replied matter-of-factly. “Especially if we don’t listen to Jackson. Scar-face gets real mad and he’ll soak ya when no one’s looking. And it’s not like you can argue with him. He don’t got no sense when he’s angry.”

“I didn’t think they ever left each others’ side,” Crutchie scoffed.

“Yeah, and Snyder’s no better. He blames us for everything and then he’ll send Jackson and Scar-face on us. We call ‘em the Terrible Twins for a reason, y’know.” The storybook boy smiled at his nickname, as if the reason behind it wasn’t awful. “They don’t care about us at all.”

“Y’know, Jackson said he liked helpin’ people. What was that about?”

“He don’t like helpin’ people-- only Scar-face. He don’t care about us at all. And if we get on Snyder’s bad side, he’ll make us watch everyone else eat while we have t’skip dinner. There’s one girl who hasn’t eaten in almost a week now.”

“What? How does Snyder get away with that?”

“When people come by to check on the place, Snyder says he’ll beat us if we don’t make it look nice. We’re not allowed to tell anyone what’s wrong with this place.” 

“Ten-pin,” a third voice cut into their conversation. Jackson was standing in the doorway, his arm outstretched to hold back Scar-face. “What are you doing in here?” His voice was calm in a way that sent shivers down Crutchie’s spine.

Ten-pin didn’t reply.

“Get out of here,” Jackson ordered, nodding outside the door.

Ten-pin nodded compliantly, hurrying out of the room. On his way out, Scar-face gave him a gruff shove on the shoulder, but he recovered and moved on.

The twins didn’t say anything as they picked Crutchie up, dragging him over to Snyder’s office, but it didn’t matter. Crutchie already knew what the meeting was about. They sat him down in an old wooden chair and tied his wrists to the back of it with belts. Scar-face kept an empty, intimidating eye contact with Crutchie as he pulled the belt tighter and tighter, until he finally elicited a yelp from Crutchie, at which point he loosened it to a more respectable tightness.

The elegance of Snyder’s office was rivaled only by Pulitzer’s. He had an extravagant mahogany desk, the legs of which were carved with beautiful details. A gilded lamp sat next to a gem-encrusted inkwell on the desk, where Snyder sat in a plush, velvet chair. A beautiful book shelf with gold edging loomed behind Snyder with books that begged Crutchie to read them. It was the kind of room Crutchie had only dreamed of.

The twins took their place on either side of Snyder’s desk as the warden began talking. “I’m sure by now you know what I’m going to ask you.”

“And I’m sure by now you know what I’m going to tell you.” That line would’ve made the boys gather in a collective oooh! but the absence of such choir of newsboys made Crutchie feel utterly alone.

Snyder scowled. He let out an exasperated breath, reaching into one of the deep drawers of his desk. He slapped a newspaper down on the desk and slid it across so Crutchie could see it. He then leaned back in his posh chair, crossing his ankle over his knee, and gestured for Crutchie to read it.

“That’s my friends,” Crutchie said. He tried to point to the picture, but the belts held his arms to the chair. “And me. Don’t I photograph great?”

“You’re quite a looker,” Snyder groaned with a roll of his eyes. “But listen,” he punctuated the statement by slamming his hand down on the paper, making Crutchie flinch, “everyone in that picture is going to end up here with you. If you can’t answer our questions, we’ll gather each and everyone one of them and beat the answers out of them, and don’t think Scar-face will go any easier on them than he did on you!”

“You’re sick, Mr. Snyder. What’s even in it for you?”

“A hefty sum of money.”

“Don’t you have that already? You’re crammin’ all these kids in here when you can’t even take care of them, all because you want more money in your pocket!” With his next words, Crutchie pulled himself against his restraints inching closer to Snyder. “It’s people like you that Jack and everyone’s tryin’ to take down! You’re not gonna get away with this!”

A swift blow to his chest knocked the wind out of him, effective silencing him. Crutchie hadn’t even seen Snyder give Scar-face the signal to hit him. “You best know your place, boy. Now tell me what you know about the strike!”

“I don’t… know… nothin’,” Crutchie coughed, struggling to get his breath back. He swallowed and took a moment to gather his wits. “Besides, you been keeping me in here, how am I supposed to know what Jack’s been up to?”

“I know more than you think, Mister Crutchie. I know how close you were to Jack, and I know you would know what he’s going to do next.”

Crutchie remained silent.

Scar-face glanced at his brother, who shook his head. They way Scar-face’s shoulders tensed up told Crutchie he didn’t want to know what was being asked.

Snyder sighed and stood up, carefully putting his chair back in place. “I’m going to leave you alone with Scar-face and Jackson,” he said, sound tired, “I do hope you’ve changed your mind…”

He stepped out and Jackson immediately took stance directly in front of Crutchie. He crossed his arms in a way that should’ve come off as defensive, but honestly made him more intimidating, and rest his hips against the edge of Snyder’s gaudy desk. He gave Crutchie a disappointed look that shot icy arrows into the crippled boy’s heart. It was uncanny the way Jackson spoke with his body and his looks. 

“Why are you being so stubborn?” Jackson asked after a long silence wherein he asserted dominance over the situation in ways Crutchie could only describe as ‘cosmic’. “I know you won’t tell us anything, and you know you’re gonna get beat for it.” He leaned in and jabbed his finger into Crutchie’s chest, right where the smaller boy had gotten hit by Scar-face. It already felt sore and bruised. “And we _both_ know you can’t take another beating from Scar.”

“I could ask you the same thing!” Crutchie said with genuine bewilderment. “You won’t listen to a thing I have to say.”

Jackson shifted his jaw and leaned back, away from Crutchie. _Talk._

“Why are you doin’ this? Why are you here with Snyder, lettin’ your brother beat on kids half his size?”

“I’m just lookin’ out for us, kid. Snyder gave us a good deal. We got a roof over our head and food in our stomachs. Why should I turn that down?”

“You said you wanna help people, Jackson.” Jackson didn’t seem to fond of Crutchie using his name. “So why are you stayin’ here, capturing kids who’re just tryin’ to make a living for themselves and beatin’ ‘em? You don’t have to stay here, y’know.”

“Yes we do! We can’t go out there! it’s just me, and I can’t support both of us!”

“What’re you talkin’ about? Your brother could punch a hole through a horse, and you’re tellin’ me he can’t do anything?”

“You really are stupid, aren’t you?” Jackson scoffed. He leaned back in towards Crutchie, his cold, grey eyes baring holes through the boy. “Scar can’t hear a damn thing! He's _deaf_."

It suddenly made sense. Crutchie had never even considered if there was a reason Jackson was so good at speaking without words-- some people were just better at certain things. Was that why Scar-face was so angry? Crutchie couldn't help but Clancy at Scar-face, who didn't seem any different. 

_Of course. He can't hear._

"You got the gimp leg, sure," Jackson continued, less condescendingly, "but you can't be deaf, dumb, and lookin' like he does on top of that. It's cruel. He'd get his ass beat every day."

Crutchie had always had the sympathy card to play off of. Young, sweet-looking, and adorable to boot. Scar-face was nearly an adult, cold, and off-putting. No wonder Snyder liked him so much. 

"I told you before and I'll tell you again," Crutchie said, picking his words carefully, "people like you and your brother'a who we're fighting' for. It's not just the newsboys of Manhatten or Brooklyn, it's all the kids who're stuck workin' in these awful, awful places. If we win, they'd have no choice but to treat Scar-face right. Don't you get it? If we win, you won't have to hurt no one no more. You could be happy!"

Crutchie almost couldn't react when Jackson reach out his hand, clamping it around Crutchie's neck. Jackson forced his hand, pushing Crutchie's face up to look him in the eye. "You watch what you say. You don't know us, you don't know anything! Don't you dare say you know what would make us happy!"

Crutchie struggled against the belts, panic growing in his eyes as he struggled for air, struggled against Jackson's leather-clad vice grip 

Once sweat started to gather on Crutchie's brow and Jackson saw that he was barely in the brink of consciousness, he roughly let the crippled boy go, pushing back on his throat to ensure it would leave a bruise-- a reminder. 

As Crutchie doubled over, coughing and gasping for breath, Jackson watched his brother closely. Scar-face stared intently at Crutchie, completely focused on him. The staring, the way he clenched his fists, the way his brow twitched between stern and angry, the way he rolled his shoulders-- Jackson knew what it meant. He shot Scar-face a look, but his brother either didn't see it or chose to ignore it. Scar-face was always looking for a fight. 

Jackson barely stepped past Crutchie fast enough to intercept Scar-face, who had his stick raised, ready to bring it down on Crutchie. All he saw was the blood he could bring from the boy. 

Scar-face got the fight he wanted, but with Jackson. Crutchie, whose heart was beating so fast he barely seemed to catch his breath, watched at the brother fought with each other, Scr-face's face turning redder and redder, both with exertion and with anger. Jackson finally settled it by slugging Scar-face so hard in the jaw that the scarred boy fell back to the floor. 

Jackson stood over his brother, chest heaving, their eyes locked. After a long time where it seemed that nothing happened but felt like a lot happened, Scar-face sat up with a grunt. He looked a absolutely defeated; enough so that Crutchie didn't fear him anymore. 

He sure as hell feared Jackson, though. When Jackson came by him to undo the belts around his wrists, Crutchie immediately tensed up. 

"Sorry about that," Jackson grumbled as he made quick work of taking off Crutchie's restraints. "Sometimes he forgets that not everyone wants to hurt us."

Crutchie didn't say anything. He nodded, avoiding Jackson's eyes. 

\--

The day wore on, and Crutchie couldn’t believe what he saw. 

He saw an older boy, one clearly on the cusp of leaving the refuge, mercilessly kicking another, smaller boy into the corner of the wall and the floor. The smaller boy, who had gathered around Crutchie the night before to hear stories about Jack Kelly, begged and pleaded with the older boy, but the pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Jackson,” Crutchie gasped. He saw the fight while he was being dragged back to his room, “aren’t you gonna stop them?”

Jackson stopped in his tracks and watched the boys for a second. In one swift motion, he turned Crutchie’s head away and continued walked, picking up his pace. “It’s not worth it. The kids are violent here. I’ll help him after, okay?”

Crutchie was too dumbfounded to say anything back.

He asked Ten-pin about it later, when the fairy tale boy snuck back in to talk to Crutchie. He started to wonder if Ten-pin had any fear, and doubted so more and more.

“Yeah, we gotta fight a lot around here,” Ten-pin explained, leaning against the side of the bed opposite the door, hoping the brothers wouldn’t see him as they passed by, stalking the hallways. “Just the other day, I had t’clock a kid right in the eye so I can eat. You know, they don’t always got enough food for all of us.”

“What? What’re you talkin’ about? Just this morning I had-”

“That’s what Snyder eats,” Ten-pin interrupted bluntly. “He wanted to get on your good side. All we gets is watery soup and some bread if we’s lucky.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah. One girl didn’t eat for so long, she did some crazy stuff and died. But they don’t care.” Crutchie hadn’t noticed how distant Ten-pin’s gaze was getting, but it was suddenly like he wasn’t talking to Crutchie at all, just talking his heart out. “No one cares about us. That girl didn’t even get a funeral. We wasn’t even allowed to say good-bye or leave her flowers or nothin’. They don’t care about us. We’re just dollar signs in their eyes.” He looked back at Crutchie, with brows furrowed and eyes watery. “I snuck out to leave her flowers, and Scar-face soaked me so good I couldn’t move for days. They don’t want us to care about each other. It’s easier on them for us to hate each other.”

“Ten-pin…” Crutchie didn’t know what else to say. Ten-pin had seemed out of a story book, but now his shining blue eyes were dark like the bottom of the ocean. This kid, this one kid, held so much despair, and… “What did you even do to get in here?”

“My parents didn’t want me no more,” Ten-pin explained, regaining that distant look in his eyes, “so they told Snyder I stole somethin’, and they threw me in here, just like that.”

“That’s awful! How do they get away with doing that?”

“Because we didn’t have a voice.” He looked up to Crutchie with hopeful eyes. “But we’re gonna. Right?”

In the bottom of his heart Crutchie didn’t know. He didn’t know what Jack and Davey and the boys could do. He didn’t know if they could win. They were a bunch of kids against giants. Pulitzer could step on them and crush them like bugs. 

Crutchie responded after a long pause, “Of course we are.”


End file.
